


KingsCraft

by TigerShark



Series: Remnant [1]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Stargate - All Media Types
Genre: Aliens, Asgardians - Freeform, Gen, Genetics, Gringotts Wizarding Bank, Latin, Pureblood Traditions, Rituals, Roman Architecture, Royalty, Secret Identity, Sumptuary laws, Wizarding Traditions (Harry Potter), hybrid species, prime numbers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 21:16:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16145678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TigerShark/pseuds/TigerShark
Summary: Merlin was a wizard.  Merlin was an Ancient.





	KingsCraft

**Author's Note:**

> Hullo! I aten't dead!
> 
> This is a brand new work from me. More accurately this is a single chapter, of a MUCH larger piece that you are NOT going to get until it's done. Then I will post the whole thing all at once and you shan't sleep for a week, I apologize in advance.
> 
> My thanks for all of you have posted on my other works over the years, your support has been greatly appreciated.
> 
> Please note: All comments on this will remain moderated and I will not permit negative comments to be viewed. If you absolutely must tell my that I have a dangling participle, you can, but that will not get posted either.
> 
> Also
> 
> The tags will change a great deal as I go. A GREAT DEAL.
> 
> If you do not like any sort of GLBTQ goings on, I suggest you exist posthaste. There will be oodles once my dear protagonist reaches puberty.

Days like this made Esmeralda feel every one of her one hundred and one years.  
She sighed sadly as she lay down the hand of what had once been her best friend, Lady Agatha Parrington. The old woman in the bed looked shrunken, the last breath of life having left her illness wracked body. After a long moment of respectful silence, healers started to bustle about the bed, clearing up the last remnants of the life saving measures they had been trying to extend her days with. An intern gathered up empty potion bottles, and a wardmaster painstakingly extracted the residual power from the stones set about the room and placed each one gently in its spot in his padded case.

“Dame Selwyn?”

Esmeralda raised her head to look at the healer who had addressed her. The gel was wearing a plain white apron over a long blue shift and a starched white cap. Some sort of apprentice-nurse Esme vaguely recalled.

“Lady Parrington’s accountant is waiting to speak with you as her executrix, mum.” She bobbed and motioned nervously towards the door.

“Thank you child.” Esme murmured and stood painfully to her feet. She had spent long hours motionless next to her childhood friend’s death bed and the inaction had taken its toll. Esme leaned on her silver headed cane and slowly made her way to follow the earnest young nurse who seemed torn between leading her or helping her.

The nurse led her into a small back room, well off the main corridor. Its ill fitting window rattled in the sash as the winter winds blew outside. The goblin stood, rather than sit on one of the two hard-backed wood chairs bracketing a small table in the sparsely furnished room. Like most of its species the banker-goblin stood a scant four feet tall and was clad in a simple gray suit with an attache case in one beclawed hand.

“You are Dame Esmerelda Selwyn, of Selwyn-Blackentree-Porwick lineage?”

“Yes I am.”

“As arranged you are the executrix of Lady Parringtons estate. Sign here, here and here.” The goblin indicated blank spaces on three partially unrolled scrolls he laid out on the table.

Esme rummaged in her reticule and fished out her wire rimmed spectacles. Fixing them to her nose, she unfurled each scroll on the table and read it carefully. None of the scrolls contained much of note, Agatha had outlived all her male relatives and had only one distant aunt.

The last scroll made Esme raise an eyebrow. How unexpected.

“The property she was given by her … paramour. It is free of legal entanglements?” She asked.  
The scroll described the property as a small hunting lodge, deep in the ward  
enclosed woods of the Kings Forest north of London.

“Yes. It was given to her entirely, enfeof to the King of course. We understand it has not been visited except by servants since her paramour passed. As a personal gift and not part of the estate, she was able to bequeath it to you directly.”

“I had not been aware that things had progressed to this point. A good twenty years or more and she never said.” Esmeralda sighed. “Well then it looks as if I will need to tour the property at some point.”

“A portkey will be sent to you this afternoon after an assessment team has viewed the estate and created an inventory for you to accept.”

“Ah. More papers to sign, of course. Then our business is concluded and I shall await your owl this afternoon. The other bequests will be distributed as agreed.” She stood slowly from the chair and nodded her head to the Goblin to conclude their business. He nodded and smiled back, showing just a hint of razor teeth.

The one advantage of both advanced age and illness, is that at least it gave one a chance to get the paperwork in order beforehand Esme mused as she made her slow progress from the depths of the long-term care ward. Waiting by the lift she saw a familiar face approach from another hallway. The stout figure of the diminutive Longbottom Matriarch was crowned by her unmistakable vulture topped hat. Esme suppressed a wry smile. During the war many an unsuspecting would-be attacker was thwarted by the vast array of defensive charms laid on that hideous bird. Who would think twice about an old lady with terrible taste in headwear? Only someone who knew that Dame Longbottom held a Mastery in Transfiguration as well as being a formidable duelist in her youth

“Good afternoon Augusta” Esme greeted her.

“Good afternoon Esmeralda.” Augusta replied, looking up at her long time friend and rival.

The lift unobtrusively chimed as the doors slid open. Esmeralda stuck her cane into the open door and nodded inside. “Age before beauty old chum.” Her friend sniffed derisively but proceeded.

“All two days of it I’m sure.”

“Elder is elder Augusta.” Esme smiled half heartedly at her friend.

The Longbottom matriarch visibly examined her from head to toe and Esmeralda inwardly sighed. Here it comes, she thought.

Just as Augusta was about to open her mouth to question her, the lift rattled to a stop and a new person entered the now open doors. Healer Forsmythe, in his long white healers robe over his usual black work-robes stepped into the lift and stopped when he saw Esmeralda.

“Dame Selwyn! How unexpected. I was just going to owl you the results of your last round of tests.” He half smiled in greeting before visibly restraining himself.  
“I’m afraid that the last results are the same as before.”

At her friend’s curious look Esme stated flatly “A final test to legally verify that this particular withered old branch would not be bearing any fruit.”

“Esme!” Augusta hissed and thumped her friend with her red handbag. “There is no need to be indelicate.”

“Harrumph.” Was her only reply.

“Thank you Healer Forsmythe, it was as I expected unfortunately.”

“I’m terribly sorry. I can put a good word in for you at child service and maternity if you did want to look into adoption …” he trailed off before Esme’s icy glower dissuaded him.

“Thank you for the kind thought Healer, but I shall make my own arrangements.”

With that the lift had arrived at the ground floor so she stalked out as grandly as her advanced age and a tricky knee would allow. Augusta bobbed in her wake like a small and querulous moon.

“Come Esme. It is teatime.” Augusta imperiously decreed once they had cleared the lobby crowded with curious eyes.

Esme allowed that perhaps she was a little peckish and followed her friend down the tiny magical alley facing one side of St. Mungos. The main hospital was open to the muggle world on two sides, but the other sides were faced with a row of crowded townhouses affectionately called ‘Healers Huddle’ for the way the staff of St Mungos had ended up crowded into them, and a small alley lined with tiny shops. The shops boasted nothing spectacular, a small florist, a gift shop, a convenience store with items suitable to bring to unexpected overnight patients, a 24 hour chippie and a tea parlour situated right on the corner of Peripher Alley and Hippocratic Way.

Esme was much too familiar with this particular teashop, after several weeks of bedside vigil. Alas, she accepted that Augusta after, years of visiting her son and daughter in-law in long term care, also knew this shop and what's more knew that Esme loathed it.

Augusta stumped into the teashop and installed herself in her usual window seat. The shop was the same as usual … tiny round tables for two covered with tatted lace tablecloths. At this time of the afternoon the patrons were a mix of just off shift healers, sucking down a cuppa before heading to their homes, newly released patients hungry for something not from the hospital kitchens, and the friends and family of patients in various stages of celebration, apprehension and grief.

Miss Shaw bustled over with her teacloth in one hand and wand in the other.

“Afternoon Dame Longbottom! Afternoon Dame Selwyn! Tea, tea and sandwiches or something warmer today?” She chirped. A Hufflepuff born and bred, Miss Shaw was perhaps a year out of Hogwarts and thrilled to be working in the family shop.

“Tea for me Miss Shaw and Selwyn here will have a cup of the espresso as black as her heart.”

“Tea is fine Miss Shaw. Don’t mind Longbottom here, she’s still bitter I edged her out of the record in Arithmancy.”

Miss Shaw giggled. With a wave of her wand a teatray floated gently across the room and settled itself on the table like an ungainly duck. A tap of the wand again and steam rolled obligingly from the spout of the teapot. The ladies all settled in to her satisfaction, Miss Shaw bustled off to another customer who held out an empty cup in a silent plea.

Augusta tapped her wand on the underside of the table, her hands out of sight. A muffling dome slid around them.

“So what has you all in a bother old friend?”

“Agatha has passed.” Esme said flatly. She busied herself with the little ceremony of pouring tea. First she picked a tea bag from the assortment in a little tin on the tray and dropped the packet in. It unfolded itself into a little swimming frog when it hit the water and circled round on the surface of the water in the pot, trailing rich gold behind it. With a tap and mutter of ‘Aguamenti Calidia’ she scalded the teacups and brought them to temperature. ‘Tergio’ emptied the cups again. A splash of cream for Augusta and then a stream of pale gold tea. Agatha waited for a silent count of three and then poured her own, the brew noticeably richer and darker already.

“Agatha Parrington?” Augusta asked gently. Esme nodded in return.

“Bagworts Fever, after a nasty bout of influenza. Not much to be done.” 

“Damn that war.” Augusta said after a moment.

Bagworts Fever was a once curable disease, but alas, the vagaries of the Voldemort’s war had destroyed the remaining breeding stock of Graphorns, without whose saliva the only known remedy was ineffective at best. 

“Poor Agatha. She was just what, ninety-seven?”

“Ninety-eight last week, though she never knew it poor thing.” Esme paused. “Well she’s gone now and the Parrington line with her.”

“That’s a branch of the Dearborns, yes? “ Her friend asked idly.

“Yes. And when Horace Dearborn goes, which will be any minute the way he’s been drinking like a fish, that will be the last of them too.”

“It’s a sad world we live in. So many families coming to an end now.” Augusta pointedly did not mention Esme’s own severely pruned family tree.

Esme huffed and sipped her tea. “Yes Augusta, it has been ten years, as you well know. And yes, I’m looking into options to continue the Selwyn Line.”

“I didn’t ask Esme. I know you.”

“All too well Augusta. After my fool of a brother died, there is just “there is” sounds a bit strange to me, here. the one repudiated cousin and his by-blow, neither in the line of succession. Now that it has been ten years since my brother went missing the Ministry has finally allowed that I’m the Last of Line. Fools that they are.”

“And the Healers?”

“Due to my darling father's fondness for whiskey with a cruciatus chaser, plus some other lovely curses for flavour, it looks like my last option is adoption.”

“Time was you could do a simple Blood Adoption.” Augusta offered.

“That might have been so, before my cousin and his odious offspring Umbridge managed to get a law prohibiting Blood Magicks except by Healers, passed.” Esme said bitterly.

“In an effort to block you and get the Selwyn Estate.” Augusta mused. “Clever but shortsighted.”

“Indeed. However it would be moot on their part, nothing can be done at this point to get the family magicks to accept an oathbreaker and his misbegot child.”

“Which leaves orphans and since the last wizarding orphanage was closed when I was at school during Grindlewalds War….”

“That means muggleborns, which is not an option due to the family magics, or finding a pureblood orphan.”

“Which isn’t going to happen.”

“Most likely. Although that has never stopped me before.” Esme said, sipping at her tea.

“Esmeralda Selwyn! You may not kill someone so you can adopt their child!” Augusta mock scolded her.

“Heaven forfend. However, d’you think the Weasleys would notice if one of theirs wandered off?” 

At this sally Augusta snorted. “You’d think after the fourth the woman would master conception charms.”

“The family magics must be stretched to the popping point by now.”

“They are up to six! Imagine! And not the strongest lineage to start with.”

“Gracious. And no squibs? That is a surprise.”

“I wouldn't be surprised if the last few turned out to be hedgies, honestly.” Augusta commented, alluding to low-powered wix, commonly called hedgewitches.

“Well you never know. The elder Crabbes had just the one and he’s a dim lumos to be sure, the offspring can’t be much better.”

“Did you hear? The youngest Weasley boy vanished this last summer. They think some muggle tramp took him!”

“From Ottery St Catchpole? Through those wards?”

Augusta shook her head, “It seems the young boys of the village had taken up the fashion of sneaking out to the muggle village down the ways. Ministry has put an end to that now, repelling charms all over! I hear the boys family is devastated, just devastated.”

After this spate of vicious gossip they paused. In their youth they had been ferocious rivals, both for schoolwork and for the affection of a certain wizard. Augusta won that battle, but lost him not long after. After the wars had eroded away at their social group, Esma and Augusta were some of the last of their circle of friends left. As close as they were, the sniping at each other would never entirely die away.

“Do you remember Agatha swanning after Reggie in school?” Esme asked suddenly

“How could I forget it!” Augusta said, tossing her head in disdain. “The pining! The swooning” 

Together they said “The sonnets!” and cackled.

“Well seems like, unbeknownst to any of us, they had a little love nest in Kingswood. Properly given over and everything. She bequeathed it directly to me.”

“No! Why that little minx!”

“Indeed! Well after Reggie disappeared during the war, she never went back and it has sat empty this whole time. The goblins are auditing it now and I’ve a walking tour this afternoon.”

“As if you needed another property?” Augusta half smiled. 

“Well this is personal, not part of the Selwyn estate, but yes. Another property to look after.”

“Well enjoy your brisk walk through the woods in late November. I’m for home and a nice hotpot. If I’m in luck our Nev had a nice afternoon puttering around the greenhouse, and the house will be nice and quiet.” Augusta said, as she rose from the table.

“I’ll see you at the Yule Ball?” Esme asked as she also stood.

“Of course.” Replied Augusta.

“Bringing Neville this time?” Esmeralda asked. Neville was Augusta’s not-quite orphaned grandson, child of her only son who now lay insensate in the Janus Thickey ward and had for years.

“As the House Head Cousin Alfie has forbidden taking Nev to any Olde rituals, the officious pipsqueak. And he wonders why little Nev can barely heat a teapot.”

“A proper Purging would do that boys core a world of good.” Esme agreed.

As they left the shop a small dark winged owl backwinged to a stop before Esme. It hooted at her imperiously.

“Ah. that’ll be my portkey. I’ll be seeing you Augusta!” She said and accepted the small round pebble carved with the Gringotts seal the owl dropped into her palm. The rune glowed brightly after a few seconds and Esmeralda popped away.


End file.
